The “count” had reached the thirteenth numeral, when Frontier Shack slowly stepped from his horse. As he executed the movement, his broad palm struck Tecumseh’s shoulder, and, with a fearful plunge, that would have overthrown the best human equilibrium, the horse shot forward!
Tom Kyle blocked the narrow pass; his brother stood beside his horse, and they uttered ejaculations of horror when they saw the trapper’s steed’s intention.
Gold Feather lifted the revolvers from the boys, and poured two shot at point blank range into Tecumseh’s front.
The brave horse reared, as blood spirted from the wounds, then staggered forward, on his hind feet, and came down with a crash upon Tom Kyle and his horse!
The renegade shrieked at the top of his voice, when he saw his fate; but the cry was broken by Tecumseh’s attack, and he found himself beneath his steed, crushed as it seemed, into the stony earth!
“Back, hunter,” cried Gold Feather, as Frontier Shack sprung forward with drawn pistol; but the trapper would not obey.
Once, twice, the White Apache delivered his fire; but ere he could send a third shot after the heart he would cleave, a report that came from a place above their heads, saluted the ears of all, and he staggered back upon the dying horse.
“Tom Kyle, you’ve deserved all this,” said Frontier Shack, drawing the renegade from his terrible position. “I intended to part from you in peace, for I owed you much; but all is over now. You are dying!”
“I know that, Shackelford. Your horse’s foot struck me squarely in the breast. I never dreamed that he would prove my death. Look out for the Indians.”
The trapper took the field-glass, and brought it to bear upon the plains below.